


Rewind, Replay

by iamavacado



Category: Hamilton - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Shippy, gun mention, kiss, probably my only work in the fandom, random idea, the world was wide enough, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 08:58:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19195711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: What if Burr and Hamilton realized the world was wide enough for both of them before it was too late?





	Rewind, Replay

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (and probably only) work in this particular fandom. i wasn't interested in ships, but i had an idle idea of "what if they didnt actually end up dueling?" I'm sure it's been done before, but this is my take on it. I'm happy with it, and I hope you are too!!

It was cold. The morning fog hadn’t yet lifted even as the sun started to peek over the horizon. The water lapping against the boat as they rowed across the Hudson was freezing to the touch. He remembered how freezing it was because at one point, they hit a hard turn, and some splashed up into the boat. Drops landed on Burr’s face and he resisted the urge to shiver. The rest of the way there, he stared down into the water, at his own distorted, ever moving reflection. William tried to spur conversation a few times, but fell silent when he got no response.

That couldn’t have been more than an hour ago. So why had it felt like decades? 

Their boat arrived before Hamilton’s. For a few moments, he couldn’t bring himself to get out. But when he could see the paddles making their way through the fog a few miles back, he stood up and made his way off the shore and towards the field. Alexander arrived shortly after.

Burr had looked down at his feet to make sure they were spread apart evenly. His boots were flecked with shining dew from standing in the grass. When he looked back up, he could see that Hamilton was already standing in first position, looking out. The corners of his mouth were pulled into a deep frown, and the grip on his pistol was lax, pointed towards the ground. The sight of him standing like that made Burr angry. It made him think that Hamilton just wanted to get this over with. Like he was eager to put Burr’s life to a cruel and short end. 

_Well,_ Burr had thought at that moment, _I am not one to be put away so easily._ The grip on his own gun tightened, and he sent William out before Hamilton had a chance to confer with Pendleton. The two men met in the middle, and started conversing in debative voices. Though, the wind had started to pick up, which made it hard for Burr to hear what they were saying. Whatever it was, he figured, it didn’t matter. This was going to happen regardless. 

While they were talking, he snuck another glance at Hamilton, who had now put on his glasses. He glanced to the side, out into the field, sadness clear in his expression. Then he turned his head back forward, face set. For a split second at that point, Theodosia’s beautiful face--beautiful eyes--flashed in Burr’s mind. He’d written her a letter mere days ago saying he would visit. And by God, he would not be made out to be a liar. 

After a few minutes, Alexander waved Pendleton over, and they started to converse. William walked over to Burr, giving a nod to the doctor as he went. The look on his face said it all. There was no peacemaking this time. They were no newly trained recruits. This wasn’t some schoolyard fight. This was a life poisoned by political pursuit. Opportunities snatched away from fingertips. A lifetime living in the shadow of someone who was shorter than him in the first place. 

Of drinks. Of parties. Of scouting out the ladies in the pubs. Of laughing. Of fighting at each other’s side. Of friendship.

Burr shook his head, ridding those thoughts from his mind. They weren’t children anymore. Those times ended a long time ago. 

Once William and Pendleton stepped to the side of the two, it was clear that there was only one solution left to this problem. Burr looked up at Hamilton, and he at Burr. There was something in his face that Burr couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. Not completely, at least. It almost seemed like he was fighting to keep his gaze up to meet Burr’s eyes. As they stepped to the center of the field, backs to each other, Burr could hear the shakiness in Alexander’s breath. It made something inside his chest twist in a way he couldn’t describe. 

Still, he took a deep breath, kept his chin up, and stepped forward at their second’s announcement. They counted to ten paces. 

**

It was cold. Hamilton was quiet as they rowed across the Hudson, head buried deep in the letter he had written last night. This morning, he could think of a thousand other things to say, but he found himself unable to hold a pen without his hand shaking. He hoped this letter, should his dear Eliza ever have to read it, would be enough to convey his feelings. Still, he read it and re read it over and over again, looking at the curve of each letter on each word, trying not to imagine this paper held in Eliza’s hands. 

_“This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, until I shall first have terminated my earthly career.”_

It was hard to imagine. His death. When he was a child, he was almost eager to go and shed his blood across the land. He wasn’t slow to let others know about it either. But now? He had a little more to lose than his writing. He had children at home. A wife. A family. Angelica. Living was harder, yes, but the burden of its troubles were always eased by the feeling of Eliza’s warmth next to him at night, and the bright smiles from his children’s eyes when he walked with them to the park. He had matured just a little more since then, so to have to imagine his death come before him, it was more than a little frightening. 

It was a short letter. Too short. He’d read it at least a hundred times as they crossed the river. 

_“Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Embrace all my darling Children for me. Ever yours, A.H.”_

Before he knew it, they were across the water, and a hand on his shoulder from Nathaniel brought him out of his reverie. Stepping out of the boat, his legs felt weak under him. With robotic movements, he folded the letter up and put it back in his breast coat pocket. Across the field, he could spot Burr, talking to his second, Van Ness. He could see the glint of Burr’s pistol in the rising morning light. Was he so eager to end Hamilton’s life that he arrived early? 

_Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?_

For just a moment, Alexander was sent back in his memories. He blinked, and suddenly he was on a street corner, backpack filled with dirty clothes and books. He was still wet from the ocean mist on the ship, and he was scouting the street for a man he’d heard the name of at Princeton College. A few meters down the sidewalk, he spotted him: Burr. Young, sure of himself, head turned down to read a book he had open. Hamilton saw himself rushing up and tapping him on the shoulder, asking his name. Going to get a drink with him. The friendly smile. The advice he’d given Alexander. That was nearly thirty years ago now. Why was it so clear in his mind?

When he came back to the present, he was about halfway across the field, staring at the grass. Burr was ahead of him, studying his gun. His boots. His stance. Hamilton couldn’t figure it out. But in his mind, he thought cripplingly of Philip. They must have been near where the duel took place. Perhaps he’d gotten off his own boat at the very same spot. Stood in the same place. He looked down at his pistol. Had Philip held it the same way?

He shook his head, trying to rid the thoughts from his mind, and started towards where Burr and Van Ness were standing. He drew first position as Burr studied his boots. His stances. He didn’t know. Still, he stared. Perhaps his face would soften at the sight of Hamilton. It was hard to see at this distance. So he slid on his glasses as Nathaniel went to talk to Van Ness. The pistol in his hand was heavy. So heavy. 

When Burr looked up, he looked angry. It made Hamilton’s chest twist in a way he couldn’t describe. Did he look that way when he was writing his letters to Alexander? Had he ever looked like that before? Searching his memory, he couldn't find an instance in which Burr wore that same expression. It was nothing Hamilton had seen before. It made him hurt to see his friend, now his enemy, wearing that look. 

Enemy. Were they enemies now? Had it really devolved to this?

Nathaniel came back to Alexander and began to speak. Truthfully, he didn’t remember what was being said. He was too busy trying to find any semblance of friendship hidden beneath Burr’s angry, darkened eyes. It had to be there somewhere. It used to be there. It couldn’t be completely gone...could it? The pistol in his hand might as well have weighed as much as a loaded ship. 

Van Ness and Nathaniel stepped to the side. The doctor was far back, head turned. Alexander was filled with a deep, unrelenting sorrow. He was tired. So tired. They stepped to the middle of the field. Backs to each other. His breath shook on the way out without meaning to. Someone gave the go. They counted to ten. Stepped with each number.

One.

He could see himself staring out of the ship, ready to step foot on American soil.

Two.

He was in the pub, talking to Laurens, Lafayette, Mulligan. Burr was smiling in the background, laughing at their hubris.

Three.

Washington was holding a quill out to him. He took it, and became the best damn right hand man anyone had ever seen.

Four. 

Eliza. Angelica. The two loves of his life. He would do anything for them.

Five. 

They won the war. He was there. The world turned upside down and they were finally on top.

Six. 

_Philip, you outshine the morning sun. You always have. You always will._

Seven. 

He never did learn how to take a break, did he?

Eight.

Maybe if he'd have just kept his cards a little closer to his chest. Talked a little less. Smiled a little more.

Nine.

This couldn't be it. Could it? There had to be some of their friendship still left in Burr’s eyes. It wasn't all gone.

Ten paces.

Alexander glanced over to the side of the field. At the boats.

Fire.

He closed his eyes, and raised his pistol towards the sky. There was a bang. It echoed around the empty field. 

_“Wait!”_

**

Burr’s finger was pressed against the trigger. If he moved it even a millimeter, the gun would fire. And it was pointed right at Hamilton. But a voice stopped him. For a second, he thought it was one of the seconds’. For a split moment, he thought maybe it was his own. But when he watched Hamilton raise his arm towards the air and fire a bullet at the clouds, he realized it was Alexander who’d yelled.

There was a hanging pause as everyone stared at Hamilton, shocked into silence. 

He lowered his gun, looking breathless. “Wait,” he said again, voice quieter.

Burr was confused at first, then anger set in once again. Who did this man think he was? He was going to pull his little trick and try to get out of this? After all he’d done to Burr? 

Alexander started to walk towards Burr, gun pointed towards the ground. There was something in his eyes as he took his glasses off and slid them in his pocket. Something Burr couldn’t figure out. But it was familiar. It was something he’d seen before. A certain wide eyed longing he hadn’t seen in a long time. But once Hamilton was only a few feet from him, it hit him. He’d seen that look when they met. That same shine in his eyes. That same longing. That same hope. But there was something behind it this time. A sadness. 

They were inches from each other now. Burr still had a hard grip on his gun. His finger was still hovering over the trigger, though it was pointed towards the ground now. “What are you doing?” asked Burr. His voice carried a little more venom than he’d meant it to. Though, he didn’t regret it.

Hamilton glanced around. At Pendleton. At William. The doctor had turned around now. He sighed. “That’s a good question,” he said, voice small. He looked back up. “What are we doing here, Burr?”

He was quiet for a moment. He didn’t know what to reply. “What?”

“What are we doing?” Hamilton repeated. “Honestly. What are we--” he gestured to the field-- “what are we doing out here?”

Burr furrowed his brows at Hamilton. What did he think they were doing? Having a picnic? For some reason, the fact that he stopped the duel just to ask this inane, rhetorical question angered Burr even more. Who _exactly_ did he think he was? Just because his name was Alexander Hamilton did not mean his fame mattered to everyone. 

“What...are we doing out here?” Burr repeated. He took a step closer. “We are here, because _you--”_ Burr pointed a finger at Alexander-- “are a loud mouthed, arrogant, one track minded, selfish, secretive man. We are here because _you_ went behind my back and endorsed a man who had been your enemy since the moment you two made eye contact. We are here because you _abandoned_ the person who'd been by your side since the first day you came to this country. We are here because of _you,_ Alexander.” Burr said his name with such acid behind it. Like having the word in his mouth would rot his teeth away.

It was clear that what Burr had said hurt Hamilton. Good. 

Alexander looked at the ground. He seemed to be searching for something to say; a first. Eventually, he looked back up, but even the movement of his head looked to take a great deal of effort. “I can't take back what I said, Burr,” said Hamilton. His voice was heavy. Strained. Sad. It was reflected in the lines under his eyes. “I can't do that.”

Seeing the strain in Alexander's face almost made Burr falter, but the words coming out only supported his anger. “Then there is no reason to stop the duel. Take your position.”

Then, Hamilton chuckled. Only the slightest bit, but it was still there. “Wasn't it...wasn't it you who told me that… duels were dumb and immature?”

A memory flashed in Burr’s mind at this. Alexander standing there, face lit up with a mix of excitement and revenge. So young. They both were. He remembered saying this trying to make peace at Charles Lee’s duel. It didn't work. But for a long time, he believed in it anyway. He couldn't remember though, when he stopped believing it.

Burr glanced down at his gun. It didn't work then. Why should it work now? “Afraid now that you can't hide behind a piece of paper?” asked Burr. “Now that you have to face the consequences for what you've said?”

“Burr--”

“You think you can talk your way out of everything. You think you can talk and write your way up onto a golden throne where no one can touch you. Well, guess what? I warned you that someday your mouth would get you in trouble, and you never wanted to listen.”

Hamilton looked exasperated. “Burr.”

“You never wanted to stop. You never cared about anyone else. It was always about you. It was always--”

“I'm sorry.”

This made Burr stop, mid sentence, mouth open. He stared at Hamilton. His age was much more apparent now. In his mouth, the dark circles under his eyes, the lines on his forehead. The burdens of his struggles were always etched on his face, but now Burr seemed to notice it more than ever. He searched Hamilton's face for some kind of falsehood, some sarcasm, some joke. But there was nothing. In all his years, he was sure he'd never heard a genuine apology come out of Alexander's mouth. It made him shift his feet. 

Before Burr could reply, Hamilton continued. “I'm sorry it was a betrayal to you. I hadn't realized what my endorsement had done to you. I…” His breaths were slow, heavy, filled with a density Burr had never seen before. “I’ve always considered you a friend, Burr. Always.”

Burr didn’t say anything. His expression stayed stern. Part of him was tempted to just walk away now. But he didn’t. He stayed, and he listened. 

Hamilton looked utterly defeated. His face said it all. He was staring at the ground. At his gun. “I’ve been angry with you, yes. I’ve- I’ve felt betrayed by you at times, yes but. I...I…” He looked back up, eyes shining. “I never thought it would come to this.” His voice was so small. Smaller than Burr had ever heard. “I never…”

Burr looked out into the field. At the boats. The doctor. William. Pendleton. He could feel the weight of his gun in his hand. His finger was no longer hovering over the trigger. If he was speaking honestly, he didn’t think it would ever come to this either. The two of them, on opposite sides of the grass, guns drawn towards the other. Thinking back to the day they met, he never dreamed they’d end up here.

Though, he never dreamed of most of the things Hamilton would end up doing.

“You took everything from me,” said Burr. 

Hamilton shook his head. “I can’t agree with you Burr. I don’t-- I just-- we don’t have to end it this way. If you never want to see me again, that’s fine. I’ll never speak your name again. I’ll stay uptown with my family. My children. You can stay with yours. We can pretend we never met. But…” He looked down at his gun once more. “It doesn’t have to be this.”

Burr swallowed hard. “Draw. Your weapon.” His voice wavered saying it. He could feel his hand starting to shake. The wind made him shiver.

Alexander shook his head, and dropped his weapon on the ground. In the grass. He sounded as if he were about to cry. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“I can’t shoot an unarmed man,” Burr said, voice rising. 

“Then…” Hamilton shrugged, and turned around. “I guess the duel is over.” He started to walk away, leaving his gun on the ground. Pendleton started to follow. 

“Wait.”

When Hamilton turned back around, eyes expectant, hopeful, Burr opened his mouth to say...something. “I…” But when he tried to talk, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. An apology perhaps? But what in the world could he be sorry for? Maybe bring up a memory. Something to get Hamilton to stay. Something. But his mind was moving so fast that he couldn’t latch on to one thought before it bounced to another. He looked down at his pistol. So clearly could he see the bullet in it launching across the grass and hitting Alexander in the ribs. Part of him still wanted it to happen. But another part…

For a moment, Alexander stood there, waiting for Burr to speak. But then he broke out into a smile. It wasn’t fully happy. But it wasn’t fully sad either. He stepped forward. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“What?”

Hamilton crossed his arms, still smiling. “I feel like we could use a drink.” A pause. “We can talk.”

Burr looked down at his gun once more. Then back up at Hamilton. The same look as the day they’d met. Maybe Burr had the same look on his face as he did back then too. Though his anger still bubbled beneath the surface, maybe it was wrong to have acted so irrationally. He didn’t know at this point. He was conflicted. But he felt that it could wait. He could wait.

“That would be nice,” said Burr. His voice was not happy. It was more relieved than anything.

There was definitely more to talk about, but there was enough time. He had time.

**

The sun had long since set when Hamilton finally arrived home. He closed the door as quietly as possible, sure that the children were already asleep. With short, silent movements, he hung his coat up on the hook near the door. As he did so, he could see the corner of the letter poking out of his breast pocket. He pinched the edge of the paper with two fingers and pulled it out. It was still folded up. He let out a long exhale, and put the paper in his back pants pocket, thankful that Eliza would never have to read it.

He made his way upstairs, ready to change into his bed clothes and slide into bed, slipping into a restful, well deserved sleep. But as he passed his office, he noticed a light flickering under the crack of the closed door. Could one of the children be up so late? He opened the door.

When he did so, he saw that it was Eliza who was in his office, at his desk, looking down at some papers. A lantern was next to her, the small fire flickering in the dark. When she heard someone come in, she raised her head up, no doubt ready to tell a tired and curious child to go back to sleep. But when she saw that it was Alexander, her face softened, and she broke out into a smile. His chest warmed when he saw it.

“Alexander,” she said, rising. “I didn’t think you’d be home tonight.” She rounded the desk, and met him at the doorway She was wearing her nightgown.

They embraced, and Alexander held her for a little longer than usual. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. When they pulled away, he still held her hands in his. “My meeting lasted a bit longer than I expected,” he said. He wasn’t willing to elaborate. But thankfully, Eliza didn’t look as if she were going to press him. “But I’m home now.”

“I’m certainly glad about that,” she said, leaning up to give him a quick kiss. “I started to worry.”

Alexander smiled down at her. Even in the dim light of the lantern, her eyes were bright, shining, beautiful. He was grateful to be married to these eyes. “You worry too much.” He brought a hand up and brushed a stray hair out of her face. “I’m all right. I missed you.” Eliza smiled, and he couldn’t help smiling back. “What were you reading?”

“Oh,” said Eliza. She turned back to the desk, heading over and grabbing a small stack of papers in one hand, and the lantern in the other. The light bounced as she walked, casting shadows the accentuated her features. She was beautiful. “I was just reading some letters.” 

“From who?” 

She turned them over so Alexander could see the signature on one of the letters. It was one of the letters he had written Eliza. “I look back at them sometimes,” she said. She almost looked bashful. “When you aren’t home.”

“Well, lucky for you,” said Hamilton, nearing her. He gently took the lantern from her, “I’m going to be home for a while.” He leaned down closer to her. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t rather be stuck with anyone else.” Eliza held the letters in both hands as he leaned to kiss her. It was warm, sweet, short. When they pulled away, she said, “Why don’t we go to sleep?”

Alexander gestured to the lantern. “I’ll put this away, and I’ll meet you there.”

Eliza nodded, and turned to go to their bedroom. Alexander made his way downstairs to where he knew they hung the lantern. Next to the fireplace, they kept it. The stairs creaked with each step, and he idly thought about getting something to fix that. How he’d do it, he didn’t know. But at least he had time to figure it out.

Once at the fireplace, he hung the lantern on its hook, and took the letter out of his back pocket. He opened it and re-read it briefly. He was never one to hide his writing from people. But this was one letter he was okay with no one reading. Slowly, he folded it up and raised it to the lantern’s flame. When it caught fire, he tossed it in the fireplace on top of a pile of ashes. He stood there and watched it burn until it was only a pile of embers. He snuffed them out with a swipe of the poking stick. Eventually, it was as if the letter never existed at all. 

He blew the lantern’s flame out, and paused in the darkness. Tonight, he would go to bed with Eliza. Tomorrow, he would wake up to the smell of her cooking breakfast. When he would go downstairs, he would be greeted by his children. Maybe he would write a letter to Angelica. Maybe they would walk around the city, do a bit of shopping. He would go on. He would live. 

He would have time.

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind I wrote this keeping what i thought was the hamilton musical characterization, and not the....real life characterization lmao. If it seemed ooc, i apologize. I figured Burr would be angry, but able to be talked out of it. and hamiltons a talker. so, i figured it could go something like this. I hope you enjoyed it. Leave a comment?


End file.
